I moved the blog over to it's own domain. Come on over. And adjust your links/sidebar/whatev accordingly. Seriously. It's a mess, so far, but it's at least worth a look, right? Hey, you can point and laugh at me!

I'm still working some of the kinks out (formatting issues mostly), but I'm pretty excited about how it's looking. All of the archives have been moved over already (Yay, wordpress! LOVE that import button!!) as well as the comments.

Come on over, check it out and let me know what you think. Pretty please?

Game Day. OSU vs. Michigan. A rivalry that inspires such passion in their fans that one is literally not safe driving a car into Columbus with a Michigan bumper sticker or license plate. It causes countless bar fights, sells a hell of a lot of merchandise for both teams, and can actually divide some families.

Well I guess it doesn't divide every family...

It also causes a certain blogger to do insane things. Like build a bonfire and set her favorite sweatshirt ablaze after a particularly tough loss.

Living just two miles from the Ohio State/Michigan border means that one is just as likely to see an OSU flag flying outside a house as a Michigan flag.

It's really a cool thing, driving around on Game Day. Everyone's decked out in their colors, everyone's talking about the game... From experience I can tell you that tonight the ER's will be slammed... I won't miss that.

I don't know how the game is going to go today (for those of you die hard OSU fans, don't get too cocky, stranger things have happened...), but I have hope.

"Where are we heading?" I should already know... because my employer issues us all these very nice pagers. I should be able to pull it out of my pocket, press a button, and be rewarded with some information (accurate or not is another question entirely) about the run.

Like the location.

I should, but I can't because I washed the damn thing again.

Pseudo Dad rolls his eyes at me for the fifth time tonight, "Over to the mall area, code 2 county run. You're really going to have to stop washing your pagers."

I nod and wrap my frozen fingers around a steaming hot cup of coffee. The snow has been steadily coming down for the majority of the day. Now that the sun has gone down the roads are a sheet of ice. For once I'm glad that Pseudo Dad is driving.

He parks the squad in the only available spot. Directly behind the firetruck in the middle of the narrow street. After marking us on location with dispatch and the county, Pseudo Dad steps out. I don't.

"We're you planning on coming?"

"Well, I was hoping I could just sit here and let you do all the work. It's pretty cold out there. And the snow flakes will definitely ruin my hair." I flashed him a toothy grin.

"You're the flake. Let's go."

"You need to get more sleep, Dad. You're no fun." The truth was I was checking out our entrance. There were two sets of steps we were going to have to navigate. In the snow and ice. With a patient on the stretcher.

I hope our patient is light.

"Do you think the fact that we haven't been met by TFD has anything to do with the fact that it's 10 degrees outside and snowing?" I was looking at the four big guys standing just inside the front door of the house.

"Maybe they saw your lack of it and felt sorry for your frozen melon? Ehhh?"

**********

The small living room was standing room only, and even that was at a premium. Four from TFD, the patient, and five members of the patients family. Everyone was talking at once. That combined with the large LCD tv blaring an episode of Cops and it was impossible to figure out what was going on.

I pulled the first Medic I came across aside. "Hey, I'm Epi from Little Private Service... What's going on?"

"She fell on the steps outside and twisted her ankle. They're arguing over where to take her. She's refusing an ice pack or a splint." He looked more than a little frustrated with the situation.

I stepped forward while Pseudo Dad dropped the stretcher to the floor. "Hello Ma'am, I'm Epi with Little Private Service. Can you tell me what's going on tonight?"

"I was heading out to take my Grandbabies to McDonalds for dinner... Oh Lawdy it hurts..." She was holding a stuffed animal, which for God knows why struck me as odd. It was a Winnie the Pooh for those truly interested.

"Which leg is it?" I had to ask because I could see both ankles, and they were both edematous. I couldn't see any discoloration... Everything looked normal. The truth was I had no idea which limb was supposed to be injured.

"It's the left one... Lawdy Lawdy Lawdy..."

I checked her PMS, which was all normal. Being someone who's broken her left ankle twice and twisted it more times than she can count, I can sympathize... Of course I've never called for an ambulance for it, but then again I don't weigh what she does.

"Okay, well we'll certainly take you to the ER if that's what you want... Is there a reason you don't want at least an ice pack on it?"

"Oh Jesus it hurts too much for ice... I need some percocets or something... Oh JESUS it hurts..." She was fanning herself with a church bulletin.

Perfect. She wants Percocet. Fantastic.

**********

We managed to convince her to go to the closest hospital, a five minute transport. Her family argued that this was unacceptable as her doctor was at Inner City ER. What they didn't realize was that Physicians at Inner City ER also practice at The Closet ER. One of the benefits of belonging to that particular health system.

Our patient, for the record, didn't care where she went. She just wanted pain relief. Relief we weren't going to be able to provide her with, but at least she only had a five minute bumpy ambulance ride ahead of her. Inner city ER was at least three times that.

With our patient packaged on the stretcher we made our way outside. I took the foot end of the cot, as customary when working with Pseudo Dad. We had an extra Firefighter to help me. Pseudo Dad claimed he didn't need any help.

The first set of steps (four in total) went fine. 315 pounds wasn't even enough to justify a bari cot.

The second set of steps however...

I don't know if it was my frozen fingers on a metal cot, or ice under my boots, or the EMS Gods hitting that smite button, but I lost my footing and in an attempt to right myself, managed to land directly on my ass.

*A collective gasp is heard from the tiny bunch of Firefighters braving the snow*

I jump to my feet instantly and rejoin the firefighter, grateful that my Pseudo Dad didn't lose his grip. "I'm fine... sorry about that..." I stammer. My face is a furious shade of crimson.

Jesus, how could I let that happen? Seriously, Epi... You could have dropped your patient...

Thank God I had that Toledo Firefighter there lifting with me, or God only knows what would have happened.

While we were loading the patient into the back of the truck I heard a whistle and a comment about "pink". I didn't think much of it at that point.

The ride to the ER/ED/EC was uneventful. Although I did manage to convince her to allow me to ice her ankle. A tiny victory for me.

**********

I was sitting in the EMS room completing my report when Pseudo Dad appeared. He was in the process of grabbing a Diet Pepsi from the fridge when he paused. "Ohhhhhhhh..... Hahahahahhahahahahaha *pause to breathe* HAHAHAHAHAH" He was doubled over, he was laughing so hard.

I found myself completely confused. And a little annoyed. "WHAT? What's so effing funny?"

He wiped tears from his eyes, "I hope you packed an extra pair of pants... Because the ones you have on have seen better days."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Yes, I'm truly that clueless. Clearly that's what makes me the source of entertainment for my partners.

"I'm surprised you didn't notice the draft..." He set the can down and wiped his eyes with a tissue.

**********

Yep. I ripped a pair of pants.

I destroyed them, in fact. And no, I didn't have an extra pair with me. And wouldn't you know it, Dispatch had two runs waiting for us. No time to run home (25 minute drive) to change.

The solution... Backboard tape.

I did two more runs that night with an eight inch long strip of backboard tape over my backside.

The moral of the story is... Make sure you pack an extra pair of pants. Or watch where you step.

I'm going to try to forget about the fact that Izzie is apparently suffering from a brain tumor and is having sex with Dead Denny (STILL HAWT) and the first year idiots are performing surgery on each other.

This past Sunday I was invited to attend a party for the volunteers and their families.

I wasn't sure if I really wanted to go to be honest... I've been in a nasty funk lately that I've been trying to shake. The chance to meet up with some of the amazing people I volunteered with was too much of a draw.

Wow. Do they ever know how to put on a party.

Twin spotlights greeted us at the front door. The kids instantly lost their minds.

Then they saw the balloons. FC wasn't as excited as the little one was, but he was itching for one of those Bob The Builder construction hats.

There were blue shirts... Everywhere. I wore mine as well, over my underarmor... Hey, it was cold out. Really really cold.

The room was quickly filling up... All to see the Frisch family. Their kids were everywhere (well, there's a ton of them...), they were very gracious. I caught a glimpse of Aaron walking Jackie through the crowd. He had her arm the entire time. It made me smile to see that kind of love between a married couple.

We didn't stay for the show itself (it was getting a little late for the kids)...

She Who Rules refused to be photographed after having a very Diva moment. FC on the other hand was willing to allow me to snap one of him. He was bored out of his mind, but he kept quiet about it in exchange for popcorn and his gameboy.

In the end, a very tired and cranky Mom dragged her equally tired and cranky (and in FC's case, bored) children back to the car.

I did manage to reconnect with some friends, and that was nice. And it did make me feel good to see the recognition given to those who really built that house. I didn't swing a hammer or paint a wall, but there were hundreds who did. It was nice to see them get some attention.

At least my little guy was okay. That's all that truly mattered. He was perfect. And gorgeous. Born with a full head of hair. Just like his Momma.

My BP was back to it's norm (110/80-ish), so I was free to sleep on my back or right side. I made my way through preeclampsia with nary a lasting scratch.

That being said, the following ten plus days were hell. I had a horrible sinus infection, and getting adjusted to your first born's sleep schedule does not contribute to a sane or happy Mom. Particularly when she's sick on top of it.

And then the car fell on him.

Mr. Epi. Not the Baby. Obviously.

I was sitting at the table in the kitchen crying into my hands out of sheer exhaustion when I heard Mr. Epi stomping up the back stairs. "EPIIIIIII....EPI Uhm..... I need you."

I looked up as he entered the back door. He was covered in blood. He looked like an extra out of a horror movie.

I sat there, slackjawed. For half a second or so. Then I flipped out.

"OhmyGodohmygodohmygodOHMYGOD... What the hell happened to you? I grabbed him and dragged him towards the sink. There was blood everywhere.

"The car fell... Jackstand...Oh Jesus..." Remember me telling you that he wasn't a fan of blood? He really isn't. He felt ill. I grabbed a kitchen towel from the drawer and put it to his head, walked him to the couch in the living room and forced him to lay down.

FC was sleeping in the swing, blissfully unaware of the chaos.

"You need to go to the hospital. Should I call 911?" I wasn't an EMT yet, I didn't know what the hell to do. With the knowledge I have now he would have gone by EMS. Back then I didn't know what the hell to do.

"No, you can't. Your car has no oil in it, and it's blocking my truck in." Blood was soaking through the towel on his head.

I called my Aunt, who came to pick us all up. She kept Baby FC, and I drove Mr. Epi to the ER.

He ended up with several stitches, but no skull fracture, thank God.

**********

Winter changed into Spring.

Spring changed into Summer...

Summer changed back into Winter...

Oh?

...and Winter gave Spring and Summer a miss and went straight on into Autumn.

And that is my last Holy Grail quote. I promise.

**********

Life in the Duplex was just fine, thank you very much... FC was walking, and talking (and talking some more).

Mr. Epi and I were getting along well enough. He did his thing and I did mine. We complimented each other. At least that's what I thought...

The fact was I was fooling myself. Just two years into our marriage and we were basically roommates. Roommates who slept in the same bed. Roommates who got along fantastically. We never fought. We just lived our lives, did sweet things for each other on occasion, and raised our precious Son. Well, I raised him. Mr. Epi was quickly losing interest in him.

I didn't get it. How do you lose interest in your SON?

I was changing the diapers. I was waking up with him. I was playing with him all day. I was feeding him, and kissing his ouchies. That's what a Parent does, right?

Apparently Mr. Epi had issues of his own. Issues I didn't completely understand yet. (Issues I'm not planning on divulging, for the record.)

I hope my email meet you well. I am in need of your assistance. My name is Sgt. Jarvis Reeves. I am an American soldier serving in the 1st Armored Division in Iraq, we have just been posted out of Iraq and to return in a short while. My colleague and I need your help to transfer out the sum of Twenty Five Mllion United State Dollars ($25 MUSD). If you are interesting I will finish you with more details.

Almost getting run off the fucking expressway by a former Lieutenant driving with their lights and siren OFF. You psychotic BITCH. Had I known who was working dispatch at the time I would have called them immediately.

Standing behind a woman in line at the carryout using her Foodstamp card to buy junkfood (and buying a carton of cigarettes with cash). I barely had enough money in my pocket for a half gallon of milk. I don't get food stamps or government assistance of any kind. I don't even have health insurance. (You know, what you consider Medicaid to be.) I noticed that you drive a Honda Accord with spinners. Screw you bitch.

The Mother in the waiting room at the Dentist's office who dared to "Shush" my son. He wasn't loud, but he was crying. He has a reaction to versed that makes him a little emotional. You're lucky that I was focused on him or I would have stomped a bootprint in your face.

(To McHottie, if you're reading this, I'm sorry that I missed dinner. I swear that it couldn't be avoided. See the statement about my little boy.)

To the friend who dared to ask me "What the HELL is wrong with you lately? Why are you such a recluse?" and then suffered the wrath of Epi, my deepest apologies. I know you're worried. And I'm sorry. I promise that I'll be back to normal soon. I promise.

To the asshole two people in front of me who held up the the Rite Aid (it should make the news if you're in the Toledo area), congratulations. You win the "Miserable Bastard of the Day" award. Enjoy the three converter boxes and 200 bucks you scored. I hope you manage to buy a bad batch of meth with it.

And then there's me. I've been letting my emotions run my life for entirely too long. It's time to use my head.

Except I was very pregnant, and sick. This combination was enough to freak out my PCP and was quickly making me just as nervous.

I did what I promised my Doctor I'd do. I drove directly to the local hospital where my OB doc was going to induce me. I might have paused first to call Mr. Epi, who I couldn't get a hold of, and my Mom.

"Mom, Dr. Leslie is saying that I need to go to the hospital. My Blood pressure's up and that's bad stuff for the little one.... Can you come up there?" I did my best to not allow the terror I was feeling to come out over the phone. It was difficult, I tend to wear my emotions on my sleeve.

It didn't take her long to catch on. The woman with the fiercest work ethic I have ever come across promised me that she would leave work immediately and meet me at the local hospital.

When I arrived in the ER/EC/ED my mother wasn't there yet. It was minutes before I was relocated to the the Labor and Delivery floor. The ER couldn't get rid of me quick enough. And that was okay with me.

I was quickly settled into my room, the same room I'd labor, deliver and recover in. It was beautiful, not at all like the sterile white hospital rooms I've stayed in in the past. This room had wood floors, Monet prints and warm colors.

And a fold out couch, mini fridge, cd player and very comfortable rocking chair that I never got to sit in.

I was too scared to enjoy any of it.

I was alone, and in typical fashion I had a million thoughts running through my head.

Is Baby FC going to be okay? Am I going to end up having seizures? What do seizures feel like? Where is my husband? What if he doesn't make it here in time. Will the baby really be okay? I want my Mom. Where in the HELL is my HUSBAND??? God, I hope he wasn't in a car accident... Jesus, what if he was in an accident and he's out there hurt and...

"Epi? You doing okay there honey?"

I jumped out of my skin. "EEEEEK! Where did you come from?" The nurse had succeeded in simultaneously interrupting my mini mental rant and scaring the crap out of me.

"I'm so sorry I startled you, I need to start an IV and draw some blood." She set her supplies down on the table next to me and took my hand. "Your Mother and Husband will be here soon, Epi. You just hang in there."

Four attempts later (Uhm, OW?) I had the securest IV EVER. It wasn't her fault, I have those spindly rolling veins. They look good until you try to stick me. Made me a human pincusion in Medic School, believe me. Oh yeah. Good times.

Sorry, I'm babbling.

So the IV was patent and the magnesium drip was started. If you haven't had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of magnesium that's probably for the best. Trust me on this one.

My Mom arrived a bit later. She sat at the side of my bed holding my hand while I tried to sleep. I was scared for my baby, sweating like a hooker in church, feeling horrible, and I was getting this headache...

Preeclampsia's a bitch folks.

**********

Shortly after six pm Mr. Epi arrived, breathless and sweaty and smelling like someone who should really be taking a shower and going to bed after an extremely long day at work. He didn't understand what was happening, he was scared, and tired, and irritable.

I needed him there. I didn't want to spend the night in that hospital with the possibility of delivering... alone. I had no idea when they were planning on starting the pitocin, and I had already sent my Mom home for the night...

Rather than spending the night snapping back and forth (and having to smell his funky butt), I sent him home. He didn't protest. I remember wishing that he would have. He was exhausted and really needed to get some sleep. And so did I. It was for the best. And I could call him if I really needed him of course.

What I can only describe as the worst headache anyone has EVER had set in about an hour later. Just about the same time that a 14-year-old girl was pushing her baby out with no epidural right across the hall. Naturally.

I felt bad for her, really. But this headache... It was blindingly painful. When I was in High School I was treated for migraines. I have to say this was worse than a migraine. I remember wanting to duct tape her mouth.

Six hours later I still had it. I was laying in bed on my left side in tears when the nurse came in to check on me.

"How are you holding up there, Epi? Ohhhh Honey, what's wrong... are you okay?" She was a Saint, my nurse that night.

*Sob* "My head..." *Sob* "It's excruciating...." *SOB* "I can't see straight it hurts so badly..." *long whimpering* I was a hot mess at that point. Literally. The mag made my body feel like it was on fire.

That nurse (I do remember her name, even close to nine years later. Kelly, wherever you are, you're a SAINT!) did something that to this day ranks as one of the three sweetest things another person has ever done for me.

She gave me a head rub. Kelly rubbed my head for almost an hour.

Had I not already had a name picked out for my son, he would have been named Kelly.

**********

The following morning I woke up to Mr. Epi sitting at my bedside. His face lit up when he saw I was awake. "Good morning, Gorgeous. How was your night?" He looked much better than he had the night before.

"I survived. Barely," I mumbled, wiping the sleep from my eyes.

"I brought your body pillow." He produced the four foot long pillow.

"Oh God, thank you. The Nurse said they're going to up the pitocin at eight. Looks like it's going to be a long day." I propped myself up in the bed and pulled my tray towards me. Breakfast would consist of ice chips. Yay.

I looked longingly at Mr. Epi's orange juice. McDonalds. I hated him instantly. How dare he enter my room with orange juice.

**********

Two hours later and I still wasn't having contractions. They decided to increase my Pitocin yet again in order to kick start some serious contractions.

That's when the real fun started. The pitocin kicked in, and just about as quickly I found myself in a world of pain.

Pitocin, like Preeclampsia, is a bitch.

Within an hour the contractions started. I did okay initially. I actually watched Martha Stewart and The Rock from WWE bake Valentines Day cookies for his wife. It was a nice distraction. About the time that they started to get a little painful, Mr. Epi's pager went off.

Perfect effing timing.

"ARE YOU SERIOUS? You're STILL on call?" I was chewing on ice chips, sweating, and mad as hell at everyone.

"I couldn't get anyone to cover... It's okay, I'll be back in an hour." He was running for the door.

"I HOPE I DON'T DELIVER YOUR SON BEFORE THEN!!!!" I was yelling after him. I was pissed. Highly.

**********

Mr. Epi made it back with two hours to spare. When he saw the state I was in... Well hell, I would have run for the nearest exit.

Three attempts at an epidural with no success.

Nubain given, resulting in me puking green jello for a good two minutes.

Basically, a lot of bitching and whining on my part. But hey, when you're in labor you're allowed to do that, right?

RIGHT????

Okay, I'm sorry.

At about 4:56pm on February 10th, 2000 , I delivered FC. 7lbs. 8oz. 21 inches long. My life would be forever changed.

Mr. Epi was asked if he would like to cut the cord. He had to sit down to think about it. My OB cut the cord while Mr. Epi was fanned by my Mom. He's never been a fan of blood.

**********

For those of you still reading, I promise another installment here shortly.

Retired and Crazy tagged me to do what I can only call the 7's Meme. How could I not play along?

So, the rules are... (I think...)

Divulge 7 things I plan to do before I die7 things I do now,7 things I can’t do,7 things that attract me to the opposite sex7 things I say most often7 celebrities I admireand 6 (make that seven to satisfy the OCD side of me - Epi) “interesting” things about myself.

7 things I plan to do before I die:

1. Finish Medic School.2. Visit Paris. 3. Visit Hoover Dam and not cry like a three year old. (Cut me some slack, I was a three year old, sitting on top of her Daddy's shoulders.)4. Visit Australia.5. Have a photograph published somewhere other than the engagement/wedding page of the newspaper.6. Conquer my fear of flying.7. Learn how to be completely honest with myself.

7 things I do now:

1. I procrastinate.2. I second guess myself constantly.3. I curse like a pissed off Marine.4. I love my kids more than life itself.5. I worry too much.6. I daydream.7. I'm more likely to cry when I'm tired.

7 things I can't do:

1. I can't tolerate stupidity.2. I can't jump out of bed in the morning.3. I can't remember what my Grandpa's hands looked like. He died close to twenty years ago.4. I can't speak squeeze the trigger of anything larger than a .22 without jumping (just a little).5. I can't tell them everything, not yet.6. I can't bring myself to eat liver. Or brussel sprouts. I have recently gotten over my aversion to oysters however.7. I can't tie my shoes the way that 90% of the public does. I subscribe to the double bunny ears method.

7 things that attract me to the opposite sex:

1. How he carries himself.2. How he treats those around him.3. His laugh.4. His eyes.5. His height. (Hey, I'm 6'1"... Some things cannot be helped!)6. His hands.7. His intelligence.

1. I have a seriously irrational fear of flying. 2. I went to five (yes FIVE) New Kids on The Block concerts. I don't know if that's interesting, or scary)3. I won a trivia contest with the award of a years tuition at the local Community College. They gave me a big check and everything :)4. I used to know how to play guitar... I wish I would have stuck with it. 5. I was in the Army, and I LOVED D&C. 6. I've been stuck on a rollercoaster close to 30 times. (The perils of working at an amusement park!)7. I yawn when I'm nervous. It's one of those odd things about me :)

I won't tag anyone, but if you do plan on playing along, let me know in comments.

(Edited more than few times to update those aircraft I couldn't identify... Thanks readers :))

My first bit of advice for anyone planning on visiting the museum would be to arrive early.

We didn't. As a result we weren't able to visit the R&D and Presidential hangars over at the base. (You now have to catch a ride on a bus to visit them, the last time we visited you were able to drive over on your own. Guess that went out the window with 9/11)

One more thing. Wear comfortable shoes.

The Modern Flight Gallery was beckoning us with stories from the Korean War (which my Grandfather proudly served in), and the Vietnam War (or Conflict if you prefer).

Betty Jo here is an F-82B Twin Mustang. It flew from Hawaii to New York, the longest non-stop flight ever by a prop fighter.

Another one that I can't identify. I'm sure that I snapped this strictly because anything with Dopey the Dwarf painted on the side of it is automatically cool. Or it could be because it reminds me of how so many ambulance services are run. Flip a coin.

(Okay, so it's a B-29 Stratofortress. Thank you to Billy Sparks!)

F-22A Raptor. She's a sexy one. One who really doesn't belong in this hangar, but I'm guessing that space is kind of scarce right now and this was the only place they had to plop her down.

I don't think that we ever figured out what this thing was... It sure looked cool though. It's hanging above the F-22, so I'm guessing it's another one of those aircraft that they couldn't find room for in the proper gallery.

(Edited once again to add: "The aircraft hanging above the F-22 Raptor appears to be a Boeing Bird of Prey". -- Terenzio Tirta Thanks Terenzio. :)

SA-2 Surface to Air Missle. Probably not something you'd want to see in your rearview mirror.

My baby brother the last time we visited... Just about 10 years ago. Look at that baby face. :) I believe he's in the F-4 cockpit there.

And for comparison. Still with the baby face. We waited in line for a few minutes for this picture... Behind about twenty Boy Scouts. We have no shame when it comes to the chance to sit in a piece of history.

They had some pretty awesome Sikorsky's in there as well. Unfortunately my lack of tripod (oops, left it by the back door!) bit me in the butt. Not one of my shots turned out.

Onward to the Coldwar Gallery.

"McHottie, I'm beginning to think that this B-1 you speak of doesn't exist... Are you sure it's not a figment of your imagination?" He's talked about his time spent as a B-1 Crew Chief for as long as I've known him. I knew how excited he was to show us his baby. I just can't pass up the opportunity to screw with him.

He elbows me and simply points. "Right there, Epi."

You're right, McHottie. She's beautiful. The lines... Awesome. He spent a good half hour visiting with his B-1, I spent half an hour admiring how beautiful she is.

Not a good place to be standing when they fire that bad boy up. Clearly.

"Epi, check this out." McHottie is pointing up above the B-1

"Holy Cow. Consult the Book of Armaments!" *snort* I never pass up an opportunity to quote some Monty Python.

The above is a Cruise Missile, with a range of 2300 miles. Other than I can't remember what I read about it.

It was time to move on, we still had a lot of favorites to see... Mine included. Although I have to admit, I'm definitely a fan of the B-1 particularly now that I've seen it up close.

But not before a little more shooty goodness. Another possibility for my dream ambulance. I'm not sure what caliber it is, but I have a feeling it could effectively clear traffic for me.

Hello Gorgeous.This is my favorite aircraft, my baby. The F-16A Fighting Falcon. Lightweight, low cost, and pretty damn good at what it does.

And so sexy.

Yes, I'm a dork. I make no apologies for it.

F-117A Nighthawk. The first stealth aircraft.

F-... I have no idea. If anyone knows what this is let me know :)

(Edited to add: This is the F-102 "Delta Dart", the fighter GWB flew.A difficult airplane to fly, it killed more than its fair share of complacent pilots. -- Thank you Greybeard, once again!)

Some guy I'm related to in front of the F-15.

And finally, Baby Brother's "Eleanor" (If you have never seen Gone In 60 Seconds you may not get the reference, my apologies)...

The SR-71 Blackbird. You have to respect an aircraft that is capable of mach 3. That's over 2,000 mph. Or five miles faster than McHottie's code three driving. This particular SR-71 flew the first operational sortie.

And finally, the Convair B-58 Hustler (Thank you, McHottie, I had no idea.) A little googling tells me that this B-58A set three speed records while flying from Los Angeles to New York and back on March 5, 1962. For this effort, the crew received the Bendix and Mackay Trophies for 1962. It was flown to the museum in December 1969.

I love google.

Our time was up. The museum closes at four on Saturdays, and we still wanted to hit the gift shop on the way out. We weren't going to be able to hit the Missile and Space Gallery, the R&D and Presidential Hangars were already out (bummer, I love walking through those old Air Force One's...) and the Air Park was out because of the weather.

Still, I'd say that we saw most of what we wanted to see. It was a great way to spend a Saturday afternoon, even with the thousand or so Boy Scouts zipping around. They were very well behaved for the most part.

Thank you, McHottie for playing tour guide. Your insane knowledge of shooty things and aircraft made the experience that much better.

Thank you to my Brother and Sister In Law for providing the vehicle we all piled in to. To my brother, who got to feel my knees in his back for three hours, I'm only a little sorry. :)

As a student/huge fan of history, the Military, Aircraft and big shooty things... I was in awe.

This place is huge. I did not take this picture, clearly. But it does give you an idea of the size of the complex. It's monstrous. In fact it's the world's largest and oldest military aviation museum. (Photo credit goes to the US Air Force. They said it was okay.)

(Again, photo credit to the USAF. From here on out the photos are all mine, hence their occasional blurriness.)

The lobby is basically a large atrium. Icarus greets you in all of his naked glory. Well, there is that lil leaf in front...

Not so much on the backside. He has the body of a Greek God, wouldn't you say? :)

"Epi?""Mmmhmmm..." I'm lost in thought."Quit oogling his ass and get moving. We have some ground to cover."

Okay Okay.

We spent a few minutes in a small exhibit dedicated to Military Photographers (I would have loved that job...) The images in that exhibit were stunning. Here's two of my favorites:

The caption reads:

The C-17 Globemaster III from the 14th Airlift Squadron, Charleston Air Force Base, S.C., releases flares over the Atlantic Ocean near Charleston during a training mission in May 2006. The "smoke angel" is caused by a vortex from the engines.USAF photo by Tech. Sgt. Russel E. Cooley IV

I could have spent an hour or two just looking at the amazing photography. I quickly found myself being dragged towards the main exhibits.

The first hangar we visited was the Early Years Gallery covering the Wright Brothers all the way up to just before World War II.

I know absolutely nothing about this particular plane, I just know it was hanging upside down from the ceiling and heading straight for a very large blimp.

Mc Hottie's favorite exhibit. The one where the Airman gets his ass chewed.

And the butt chewing.

I snapped this shot just because I truly believe ambulances should be armed with them. Hey, it's just a practice bomb!

An ambulance for that bomb. I believe the last truck I worked in was just about this old.

Next up we had an exhibit about the Holocaust. Extremely moving.

I'm Polish, German, Irish and French Canadian, but I grew up in a neighborhood known as the Polish Village in Toledo. My church has Polish Masses every Sunday. I went to a Catholic grade school for nine years that taught us in very graphic detail about the horrors of the Holocaust.

It was a very moving exhibit to go through.

Arbeit Macht Frei means literally "Work makes (one) free". It was a common German phrase posted at the entrance to many nazi concentration camps. That's my baby brother, The Responsible One on the right, McHottie on the left, with my wonderful Sister In Law behind him.

This was a plexiglass case containing an accordian with a story about it being a child's most prized posession. I would have taken more pictures, but I was too busy crying.

This was the jacket of one of the liberators, a Soldier from Dayton, Ohio.

I wiped my tears away just long enough to retreat from the Holocaust exhibit and run smack dab into this:

If you know what these banners symbolize you'll know why my tears continued to fall.

They put on the uniform, so that we could continue to enjoy our freedom. Freedom to bitch to our hearts content on our blogs. Freedom to practice and worship whatever faith we choose. Freedom. As a former Army girl, the ex girlfriend (and very good friend) of someone who just reenlisted knowing that he very well might be heading over to Iraq, the Granddaughter of a Korean War Veteran, the very proud cousin of an Enduring Freedom Veteran, and former partner of an Air Force Veteran...

Once again, my cup runneth over. Thank you for the sacrifices you made.

Next up, the Air Powery Gallery. WWII Aircraft mostly.

I have no idea what this is. But it's shiny. That's the ADOBSO kicking in again.

(Edited to add: "The first shiny thing is a Seversky P35. It was the first all metal monoplane fighter in the USAAC. As everyone of course knows, Seversky became Republic and Republic produced a lot of planes including the P47.

The P 35 was sold in small numbers to the USAAC and Sweden. By the start of WW II, it was pretty much obsolete. Ironically, a two seat version was sold to Japan before the start of the war. ")

Made me think of Rosie the Riveter.

This is just about a quarter of this particular hangar.

Again, I have no idea what this is... Maybe Greybeard can help out....

Oooooh, shooty things... The card reads:

FP-45 "Liberator" PistolOriginally developed in 1942 for the U.S. Army by the Inland Manufacturing Division of the General Motors Corporation in Dayton, Ohio, this single-shot, smooth bore, .45 caliber pistol had a mysterious history. Intended for mass distribution in enemy-occupied territory to incite revolt and uprisings, the Army referred to it as a "flare pistol" (FP-45) to ensure secrecy. The Frigidaire plant at Dayton chambered the rough barrels, and workers at the Guide Lamp plant at Anderson, Indiana assembled 1 million of these weapons. In Europe, the Allied commanders deemed the mass distribution impractical, and very few FP-45s were delivered to resistance forces. Only Chinese forces received many of these weapons, and most of them were destroyed.

Lord Guard And Guide the Men who Fly. In memory nine who made the desert a highway for our God.

Transported from Wheelus Air Force Base in Libya, it honors the original crew of the "Cursed Plane" The museum has parts of this particular aircraft, a B-24 (Lady Be Good) that disappeared in 1943 over Italy. It wasn't found until 1959... In Libya. In a desert.

My namesake. The Strawberry Bitch. God I love the art that adorned the sides of aircraft back in the day.

Another bright shiny flying thing I can't identify, but I'm sure someone out there can.

(Edited to add: "Five By Five" is a P-47 Thunderbolt, more commonly referred to as "The Jug".It had 2,000 horsepower hanging on its nose, and was a damn tough airplane. -- Thanks Greybeard!)

Who is this poor girl?

Disclaimer...

Let me make this perfectly clear...Names, ages, genders, locations, hospitals... All fake. Totally and completely fake. Any similarity to any event that's ever taken place in the history of man is purely coincidence. My thoughts, beliefs, etc. are my own and may or may not be the thoughts, beliefs, etc., of my employer, my school, or anyone I know.